fter lunch, we hit the streets of Havana, or La Habana as it is called in Cuba.  It  is a very beautiful and sometimes sad anachronism – a holdover from the booming, colorful, capitalist fifties.  The architecture is pure Spanish colonial, with faded pastel colors, wrought iron balconies, and details everywhere.  The cars are all baroque designs in heavy metal with flying fins, smiling grills, and dramatic, oversized hood ornaments.  Thunderbirds, Bel-Airs, Zephyrs.  Sheer strength and style.  The sad part is that many of the gorgeous Colonial palaces and Eisenhower-era American cars are decayed beyond the point of safety; living wrecks, really.

    We grabbed our Lonely Planet and headed for the hotels and museums.  All of the lavish, opulent, massive old structures that belonged mostly to American businesses have been turned into either government offices or museums, and nearly all museums are paeans to the revolution.  We checked out all the sumptuous old hotels, which have been maintained in immaculate condition, we had drinks in their bars and swam in their pools.   We never walked more than ten or fifteen blocks from any nice hotel, as they were our only respite from the sweltering heat and the annoying street hustlers. 

    We found ourselves more than once sitting at the Hotel Sevilla pool, drinking rum, lime and mint cocktails called mojitos, and watching the Cubans in the building across the street hang their clothes out to dry from their 19th century balconies.  All the while, a trova (Cuban folk) band was playing Buena Vista Social Club covers, and couples were dancing poolside.  Beyond the dancers and musicians was a tall iron gate behind which people on the sidewalk had gathered to poach the hotel’s entertainment.  The street folk were getting their groove on with the moneyed tourists.

    After exhausting ourselves all day sightseeing in the heat, we returned home, bathed ourselves from a bucket ( the water had been shut off) and lay down under the fans.  We were fully drained from all the traveling and the sheer intensity of the experience.

    Our first night was spent at the Old Fort that guarded the harbor of Havana.  We attended a cannon firing ceremony, which was quite impressive and very loud.  We saw the sun go down, the moon come up, and the few lights of Havana come on.  In what other big, Latin American capital city can you see the stars so brightly at night?  After the demonstration at the fort, a salsa band came out and everyone, young and old, got down to the boogie.  Music is everywhere, and it’s all good. 

We spent another fantastic day in Havana cruising the boardwalk (el malecon) along the ocean.  We checked out Vedado, the neighborhood built by wealthy American businessmen after America took control of Cuba at the turn of the century.  The style was very different from Central Havana.  Instead of corridors of once-glorious colonial townhouses, Vedado felt more suburban.  There were large homes with big yards, porches, and balconies, separated by big yards.  It was also a nightclub and hotel district, where anyone Cuban who wants to mingle with wealthy tourists comes to hang out.  When Castro took Havana from Batista in ’59, he set up his headquarters on the 23rd floor of the Havana Hilton, now called the Hotel Havana Libre - nice touch!  We slipped into a cozy little subterranean club where we sipped premium American whiskey and listened to a great jazz band with a fantastic 19-year-old saxophonist blowing sweet tunes.

fter a couple of days in the capital, we headed east about 100 miles to Matanzas, an industrial port, to visit Yasmina’s godmother’s sister.  We spent the day at their house, and they were overcome with joy at having visitors from the States.  They took us on a quick tour of the town, where we passed by a rum factory and bought 2 bottles of rum for 2 dollars.

Our travel destination was Trinidad, but there were no direct buses, so we took a six-hour, 120-mile bus ride to Santa Clara, the town taken by Che Guevara during the revolution.  We met a super nice couple who rented us a room in their beautiful house, had a long conversation with them, and learned a lot about Cuba.    The people are very candid about their feelings.  Most people are happy with the revolution in spite of some serious problems - shortages.  They don’t have enough money to buy necessities, so they all try to participate some way in the tourist economy, either renting a room or selling meals.  Because of this, two economies have developed side by side, separate and unequal.   The local Cuban economy based on pesos is tightly controlled by the government and doesn’t provide sufficiently for the people, but treats them all equally.  The other economy is for tourists only and runs on dollars, and everything is available.  Therefore, those Cubans involved in tourism making dollar tips have created a nouveau riche class distinct and separate.  It seems as though it will create trouble in the near future.  It also supports the case that were the US to allow trade and tourism with Cuba, this would be the most direct way of toppling the regime.  The massive influx of foreign dollars and the infrastructure necessary to support such tourism would simply overwhelm the fragile state-controlled economy.  This is something that is glaringly obvious to those who have traveled to Cuba.

In the morning, our host took us by the 50-foot-high Che Guevara Memorial.  He’s in military fatigues, shotgun in hand, mid-stride, cast in bronze.  He stands atop a 20-foot pedestal and overlooks a huge ceremonial square on a hill looking down on the city and the valley below.  We learned about Che’s life, saw his tomb, and watched a militaristic ceremony with music and marching.  Then, off to the bus station for the 5-hour ride to Trinidad.

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